“Yes. She saw it wasn’t no use to try to carry on business against me; and she’s hooked it to Melbourne.”
“There was a young woman with her, named Martha Stone,” I continued, “can you tell me where she is?”
“Yes. She’s another beauty. I am not at all astonished at young men inquirin’ for her. Don’t think I am, mister. I’ve kept that lady from starving for the last six months; and I’m about tired of it, I can tell you. This is a nice world we live in, sure enough. What might you be wantin’ with Miss Stone?”
“I wish to know where she is to be found—nothing more,” I answered.
“Certainly. You wish to know where she is! Of course you do. Why not?” said the disgusting creature, in a tone, and with a significant leer, that I have ever since been vainly endeavouring to forget. “What right have you to think, that I should know where any such a person lives?” continued the woman. “I wish you to understand, sir, that I am a lady.”
I should certainly never have thought it, without being told; but, not the least grateful for the information, I answered:
“You say, that you know where Miss Stone is to be found. I am her brother, and wish to find her.”
“Oh! that’s it, is it?” retorted the woman with a look of evident disappointment. Then, turning round, and forcing her neck someway up a narrow staircase, she screamed out, “Susan! Susan!”
Soon after, a very young girl—apparently half-starved—made her appearance at the bottom of the stairs.
“Susan,” said the only woman I ever hated at first sight, “tell this man, where Miss Stone lives.”